


Counting Stars

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s10e07 Girls Girls Girls, M/M, Season/Series 10, references canonical character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel knows who it is without lifting his head. "Here to kill me?" he asks.</p><p>"No."</p><p>It's the other type of visit, then. There are only two.</p><p>--<br/>Takes place immediately after 10x07: "Girls Girls Girls." Heavy spoilers for that episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Stars

Castiel knows who it is without lifting his head. "Here to kill me?" he asks.

"No."

It's the other type of visit, then. There are only two.

Castiel closes his eyes. He does not need to sleep yet. This stolen grace is too new, and the night is too young. But he has been on the motel mattress for over an hour. His laptop required charging, and his mind welcomed the opportunity to wander. 

He has ascertained, to this point, that Jimmy Novak's wife and daughter are alive. The wife's whereabouts are unknown. But the daughter, Claire, is in Illinois.

Castiel touched on many troubling things during his research: run-ins with local law enforcement, multiple group homes. Pain. Loneliness.

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut. He wishes he could close them twice. The darkness he wants is deeper than one set of eyelids can provide.

Years have passed since Castiel last heard Claire Novak's prayers. He realizes, now, that he's missed them. 

The mattress dips as a body's weight lies next to his. Castiel turns towards the window. Parking lot lights blare through the glass, fluorescent and false.

He sighs. "I'm not in the mood for-"

"Neither am I."

Castiel frowns over his shoulder. Crowley has shed his jacket, shoes, and tie. His shirt is open, but his pants are untouched. He is uncharacteristically quiet.

"What is it?" Castiel asks.

"Nothing."

Castiel shifts to face the King of Hell. "You're lying," he says.

Crowley side-eyes him. "Bravo," he mutters. "Cookie for you, angel."

"Crowley-"

"If I wanted a Dr. Phil session, you are the _last_ creature I would seek out." Crowley rolls his eyes. "Moron."

Castiel's mouth tightens, but curiosity silences the argument he would normally make. He lies on his back again. "So, you came here to sit?" he asks.

A long pause follows. Then, the rustling of fabric. A glance tells Castiel that Crowley has removed his shirt and hooked it over a corner of the bed frame.

"Yes," Crowley replies.

"Good."

Crowley raises a brow. "Is that a joke?" His eyes narrow. "When did you learn to joke?"

Castiel shakes his head. "It isn't a joke," he says. "I believe I wanted company."

Crowley is watching him with dark, human eyes. But Castiel sees the lava-red twisting underneath. 

" _Wanted_ ," Crowley echoes, pensive. "That pixie's grace is failing you already?"

"I'm fine," Castiel murmurs. It's strange that Crowley would note a symptom of his fading grace without mockery. But then, it's strange that Crowley came to his aid at all. And that Crowley is here now, not to kill or touch him.

"This grace is strong," Castiel continues. "But I still find myself...feeling things. " He looks at Crowley. "You understand this better than most."

"Yes. Thanks for the reminder, sunshine," Crowley mutters. He looks incredibly uncomfortable. "You could have called your favorite pets if you were lonesome. Moose would have happily indulged you. Bit of a sentimentalist, that one."

Castiel shakes his head. "I miss him, and Dean. But, these thoughts. They would not understand."

Crowley raises a brow. "And I will?"

Castiel smiles wryly. "You don't care enough to ask."

The demon-king looks displeased by this assessment. But, after a moment, his expression takes on a thoughtful evenness.

He shrugs. "I suppose you're right."

They stare at the ceiling, awkward and silent.

Restless, Castiel waves a hand in front of him. As his fingers sweep the air, a projection of the sky opens above their heads. He paints stars over darkness, drawing constellations in cold, pristine light. 

Crowley snorts. "Isn't this a waste of the power I procured for you?"

"It's a small thing," Castiel replies. Crowley isn't wrong, and his answer isn't true. But the sight of the stars brings a smile to Castiel's face.

"So," Crowley murmurs, "what happened to that pretty girlfriend of yours?"

Castiel shakes his head. He does not answer, only swallows the knot that has suddenly appeared in his throat.

"Dead?" Crowley asks.

Castiel shakes his head again, this time with a chuckle. "Alive," he replies. "Very far from here."

Funny. This whole time, Castiel saw himself as the teacher, helping Hannah learn the ways of humanity. In the end, she was the one who taught him. It is an angel's duty to respect the gifts Father bestowed on mankind. 

Gifts Castiel stole so carelessly from Jimmy Novak and his family.

Would he change anything now, if he could? Despite Castiel's many failures, the Apocalypse was averted, and the Winchesters prevailed. Free Will was worthy of sacrifice. Jimmy and Castiel both died to protect it.

Only, Castiel was brought back. Jimmy was not.

"You yearn for them," Crowley mutters. "Your stars."

Castiel exhales slowly. "Yes."

"You could return there, you know," Crowley says. "They would welcome you back with open arms. Castiel, Angel of Thursday. God's favorite. Blah, blah, blah."

"It isn't my home. Not anymore." Castiel frowns as he speaks. It's true, he knows. But it is still strange to say aloud. 

"You're better off, sweetheart. Arrogance, that's all I see when I look up there. Rats scurrying after their Pied Piper."

Castiel's demeanor darkens. "You have no right-"

"I have every right," Crowley snaps. "Your kind calls us vermin. Look at them. Petty children. Hypocrites. " He jerks a thumb towards the projection above their heads. "It's false beauty, Castiel. And it deserves to fall as many times as it takes to destroy the whole damn thing."

"Enough," Castiel grits. He grabs the angel blade hidden beneath his pillow.

Crowley rolls his eyes. "Always the same dog and pony show." He flexes a finger towards the ceiling.

A single flame shoots out, bullet-like. It strikes a star and bursts with a spark.

The star falls to the mattress. It is only a marble now, stone-hard and gray.

"Son of a bitch," Castiel mumbles. He releases his grip on the angel blade and leaves it stowed beneath his pillow. 

Crowley snorts. "Son of a witch, actually."

Castiel frowns. "What?" Crowley's expression is off. Strained and disconcerting.

"Nothing, angel." Crowley clears his throat. His face recaptures its casual indifference.

"Crowley-"

"Are you worried for me, love?" Crowley's eyes glint with amusement. "What a peach. Touches me right where my bathing suit goes-"

"Maybe I can help," Castiel presses.

"You, help? Please. Your involvement leads to two things, Thursday: One, the death of everyone around you. Two, your own death." Crowley's eyes narrow. "I'm not interested in a bad luck charm, nor am I interested in saving your damsel ass for a second time. Are we clear?"

Castiel glares at him. "I didn't ask for your help-"

"I didn't do it for you," Crowley grumbles. "Like I said, you're useless to me dead." He plucks the marble from the mattress and rolls it between his fingers.

Castiel follows the motion with his eyes. "What do you want?" he asks. "I have no interest in entering any kind of deal with you-"

" _Mother of sin_ , you're an idiot."

In frustration, Crowley squeezes the ruined star between his thumb and forefinger. It cracks. A delicate dust forms on the demon-king's hand. He brushes it on the side of the bed. 

Castiel sighs and turns his back on Crowley. The action is met with an incredulous, "Really?"

"Tell me what you want, or leave," Castiel says. "I have other concerns, and they don't involve you."

"Ah, yes... Those problems I don't care about. Have fun with those, champ."

Castiel stiffens when an arm drapes over his waist. Crowley's hand settles in the center of his chest.

"I said I'm not in the mood for-"

"Quiet, angel." Crowley speaks into his hair. "Just lie there and look pretty."

Before Castiel can argue, he feels Crowley tense against his back. "You should be dead," Crowley mutters. "I should have killed you so many times over. But you're still here."

Castiel frowns over his shoulder. "So are you. Remember that."

"Oh, I remember." Crowley smirks. There is something desperate to the expression. "We've both had our chances, haven't we?"

Something is very wrong here. If Castiel didn't know better, he would think Crowley was on human blood. But he can see the demon churning violently behind Crowley's eyes. Crowley is as powerful as ever. What is it, then?

"Yes, we have," Castiel replies, cautious.

Crowley presses his forehead to Castiel's hair, breathing slowly against the back of his neck. "Well then," he murmurs, "what's one more night in our string of failures?"

Against Castiel's better judgment, he places his hand over the demon's on his chest. "What did you really come here for?" he asks.

"That's for me to know," Crowley replies. "Now, close that lovely mouth of yours, pet."

"I'm not your-"

"If you stop talking, I'll stop talking."

Castiel frowns, but he does not say anything else. They fall silent together beneath a ceiling of stars.

***

It is a strange thing, stolen grace. Castiel tires like a human, but he does not dream. After Metatron made him mortal, Castiel experienced vivid nightmares. Blood and bones breaking as Heavenly lights fell from the sky.

Now, Castiel sleeps like death. A black shroud of nothing shattered by morning's glow.

Castiel stirs into pressure against him. Something soft is at his mouth and rough on his jaw. There are fingers in his hair.

Castiel sighs and lets his lips slip open. They are stroked gently by the mouth over his. He makes a small, curious sound, uncensored by waking obligations or allegiances.

"The things I would do to you if I had more time..."

Instinctively, Castiel turns towards the voice. He scrubs his eyes with a wrist to clear his vision. "Crowley?" he rasps.

The name is answered by lips on his again. Fingers drum over the top of his spine. An answering warmth pulses inside Castiel. He groans quietly, arching towards the touch. 

"Pleasure as always," Crowley murmurs. He looks amused.

But there is still something different about him. An uncertain waver to his gaze.

"Crowley, wait," Castiel says, sitting up.

His attention is drawn by a rattle.

"Ciao for now, love," Crowley bids. In a blink, he is gone.

Alone, Castiel looks down at the bed.

Dozens of gray marbles are littered around him. Every star, fallen. An empty sky is all that remains of Castiel's projection.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi. Or angst over Crowstiel with me ;_;


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